The Book Girl
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: During the Battle of LA, a demon throws Spike through a shop door and into the arms of a bookworm with a secret. SpikeHermione. Adapted to fit HPatDH, minus the epilogue.
1. Hermione

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Harry Potter_ or _Angel_ the series. **

**A/N: I played around with timelines a bit. It's S5 for Angel and Post Hogwarts for HP (HPatDH adapted, minus the epilogue, of course).**

**Summary: Angel/HPxover. During the Battle of LA, a demon throws Spike through a shop door and into the arms of a bookworm with a secret. Spike/Hermione. **

**Part 1: The Book Girl**

**I.  
**

"Come again!" Hermione called, watching the old man waddle out of the shop, leaving in his wake a ring from the bell above the door. She rolled her eyes, hearing him mutter something about her 'overpriced, understocked selection'.

Los Angeles, the City of Angels. _An accurate name if you're counting Lucifer's gang_, she mused, leaning back into her chair in exasperation.

In all honestly, she had no idea why she was still at work at this hour. After all, most sane customers were probably off in their beds, snugly tucked away (sort of like how she should be). Alas, most of the other 'rare' book stores in this city seemed to keep late hours as well, and she had to keep up with the competition if she was planning on turning any form of a profit.

Hermione sighed, standing with a stretch. She tugged down her skirt, crossing the space of her shop with a set of keys in hand. A moment later, she had the security gate in place and the front door locked behind her, both of which were basically for show. After all, the wards she'd placed around the building alerted her every time someone entered the premises, a convenience considering that she wasn't constantly watching the front door during working hours.

The young witch didn't plan on heading upstairs to her little flat anytime soon. Oh, no, there were papers to file and inquiries to fill out. She glanced down at her desk, glaring at the computer in front of it. There was a time and place for muggle technologies, but she was getting sick of taking the slow route at every task she performed. However, this was the small price she paid for having a life of her own, one that was at least somewhat private.

Any hopes of revisiting her school career had ended a year ago, along with the war against Voldemort. Thankful, she had made it out unscathed beside her two best friends Ron Weasley and the savior of the wizarding world, Harry Potter. Others hadn't been so lucky as those three, and the thought of the lives lost on both sides weighed heavy on Hermione's heart. Seeing death had changed her, as much as it had her relationship with Harry and Ron, especially Ron. A love life was not what she was searching for after the last battle, especially after seeing the pain of broken homes and dead loved ones. The trio broke only a few months later, not in fights or tears but with "I'll see you around" and "I just need a break".

Hermione had been the first to actually leave, though, sick and tired of the publicity, of the bureaucratic bull that was pushed on her for being friends with the boy-who-lived. A trip to Australia would have been easy for the witch, but she had decided against looking up her parents after she left her friends. That could wait; what she needed was time, for recovery, for rest, so she found a new location altogether. She was correct in assuming that even the greedy quills of the _Daily Prophet_ wouldn't bother crossing the ocean to interview a side kick. Just as an extra precaution, she'd chosen not to live in one of the few North American wizarding towns, instead selecting a location and business (thanks to a bit of coin that Harry had given her as a going away present) in a larger, muggle city.

Besides her curiosity and the city's size and location on the west coast, Hermione had absolutely no idea why she had decided to move to LA. Gangs, crime, and strange occurrences were numerous in this place, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd made the wrong decision in coming here—a thought that she would never pass on to her normal, muggle parents who assumed that they had no daughter and were currently living a life as sweet as peaches-n-cream. Over the past few months, she'd dodged several magical locations and kept a low profile, focusing on trading and selling rare muggle books (though, ever the reader, she did have a private back room for 'special' customers) and only carrying her wand as a precaution.

Yes, she was quite proud that she'd been able to set up a new life so easily.

Hermione smirked, imagining Ron attempting to do something similar. _He'd never survive, _she realized, laughing aloud. She sat down at her desk, her amusement fading at the sight of a small stack of envelopes. _Bills: minions of hell if there ever were any. No, Ron would not like this situation at all. _

"I'd be surprised if he made it out of The Burrow," Hermione stated. She looked up with a frown. "Oh, for Merlin's sake, I'm talking to myself again."

A static charge swept over her, the hairs on her neck standing as she shivered off the strange chill. "What was tha . . ." Her voice broke, a bright red spark catching her eye as it zoomed around every wall like a firecracker on tracks.

_The ward! But it's never been red before . . ._ Her eyes widened. "Red means danger!"

She quickly pulled out her desk draw, snatching her wand before she stood again.

A crash sounded from the back of the shop, followed by the cracking clutter of book shelves collapsing. Her breath caught in her chest, every fiber of her being screaming for her to run, but instead she froze, watching the closed curtain that led to the back room.

Something was approaching, closer and closer, almost at the entrance way. She raised her wand, training it on the spot that intuition announced was most crucial.

Her heart stopped as the curtain moved suddenly, jerked off the doorway along with a shower of debris. She cried out as a figure appeared, skidding to a halt behind the counter.

To her surprise it was a man, bleeding, short white-blond locks matted in clumps of crimson.

"Malfoy?" she hissed.

But then he looked up and it was not her old childhood bully staring back at her. The face Hermione saw was not one she recognized; though, she didn't much imagine even his own family could do a better job from the swelling of his left eye and the mass of broken skin over his chin.

"What?" he asked, dumbstruck, his voice somewhat slurred from the blood pouring from his lip.

"Who the hell are you?" she swore, aiming her wand at his chest.

"None of your damned. . ." He looked away from her, back at the rooms he'd just left behind, a grimace on his face. "Get out of here!"

"I'm not going anywhere!" Hermione snapped.

Then she saw what apparently had broken the man's face so terribly. It was a creature, a monster, one which Hermione had never seen in all her years of education. But she could assume its name, as vague as it might sound, to be Demon.

"Oh, Merlin," she whispered.

The thing turned toward her, canines dripping reddened saliva, talon-like claws held up in front of its massive, hairy torso, its head bent forward so that its two horns were horizontal and threatening. With feline-like slits studying the young woman, the monster let out a low growl and charged.


	2. Spike

**Disclaimer: I "still" do not own _Harry Potter_ or _Angel._**

**II.**

"Come and get a taste, mate—got the best meat in town!"

The vampire gave a cocky grin, running a tongue almost suggestively behind his lower lip. He was on his toes, all tooth and claw, his face torn, trickling metallic candy down into his mouth, throwing his blood-lust-adrenaline-rush into overdrive. Spike was jam packed with demon fury, unleashing it as he fought, cracking horns and bones and putting a spare fist or foot wherever he could fit it. With every verbal punch and physical kick, he gained a bit more of his old self, though he wasn't quite sure if it was the English Sex-Pistol-punk or the quivering poet.

Either way, wasn't a beasty there that was going to steal his cavalier swank from him, no sir. The vampire lunged forward, wanting a taste of the foul, black blood oozing from the Hell minion's second, communicative orifice—but that blasted soul kept him from partaking, making him, instead, keep an eye out for his friends.

Friends?

That was a good laugh, now wasn't it? _Friends?__ Ha!_ Associates, maybe. _Allies?_ At the moment, they were. Eventually. . .family? But never truly friends.

"Is that the best you got?" He teased the demon, putting a knee into its four-eyed face.

_One more down, only a few thousand left. _For all the "kiss my arse" play, he was frightened. He'd have to be beneath a pendulum to ever admit it, but he was actually scared. However, he knew that staying in one piece meant not showing it. Just keep going like the world doesn't matter, like the war's inside.

As a man, he'd never fought, even for love.

As a monster, he had never stopped fighting.

As a being trapped between those two extremes, he had been able to keep himself at bay. Buffy had been his light, leading him, always. Everything he did he knew was right because he did it for _her_. She made it easy to die. But she wasn't here, now was she?

His ghostly rebirth had left him in despair, unknowingly clinging to the past that he had with his ol' gran', Angel. It was easy to listen to his soul when it said to save the innocent, do the right thing. But what was it saying now? Angel had told all his warriors to prepare for the end. Why, then, was his soul shaking its head?

Was it right to leave this place so defenseless, the rest of Hell literally spilling out into the streets? Was death the answer? Spike's mind was a haze. _Just fight, dam nit,_ he chided himself. That's all he could ever do, no time to think.

"Oh, shi. . ."

Perhaps he should have been concentrating on the battle at hand.

Spike flew backwards, crashing through a wooden door, splinters sticking through skin and cloth as he rolled over in the heap of debris. The door in front of him hung pathetically on one hinge, a horrid picture of a nine-foot demon displayed from beyond the frame.

He let out an anguished groan, feeling the tension leave his forehead as he lost his furious game-face, taking on the appearance of a human man again.

The vampire took no time to rest, scrambling to his feet and jumping back into an aisle amongst the books, just as the demon swept at him with its long claws, tearing into his leather jacket as if were as soft as butter. Spike knew what blades that sharp would feel like, slicing open flesh and tendon, and he was in no mood to feel his inners diced into stew bits.

With that thought, he ran around the back of a seven-shelf book stack and pushed it over onto the approaching demon. Then he slipped through a curtain of beads, eyes trained so hard on the spot where he'd just left, that he didn't realized where he was.

_I just attacked with books_, he noted suddenly. _How the Hell did I manage to bust into a bloody bookstore? _

"Malfoy?"

The question—accusation—came from his side. Spike frowned. _Oh, bollocks._

"What?"

He took the girl behind the desk in within two seconds, studying her form long enough to make the rough evaluation that she was human, young, and somewhat pissed. She was shouting at him (to which he almost formed a decent retort), but Spike didn't have time for that, eyes back on the curtain that led to the other room.

"Get out of here!" he growled, his preternatural senses alerting him that the demon was up and headed in his direction.

"I'm not going anywhere!" the girl snapped.

Spike barely heard her, only aware of the fact that she hadn't heeded his warning. Their time was up. The demon burst through the back, angry, and definitely ready for a taste. But, apparently, vampire was not longer on its evening menu.

The monster turned, letting out a dangerous growl and charging toward the girl, horns low, the better to impale the pretty with.

Spike grabbed the closest object, which happened to be a cash register and hurled it toward the beast. The machine hit the demon in the head, catching the monster between its threatening horns and cracking one of the deadly bone projections. The creature let out a cry of rage, its view blocked as it turned toward the wall, banging its head against it in an attempt to knock the register off.

The vampire wasn't going to let the distraction go to waste. He jumped up, sliding down the counter on his rump, past the demon. Spike hopped off in one graceful move, grabbing the young woman's wrist.

"Come with me!" he ordered, pulling her along before she could fight his assistance, headed toward the front entryway. She let out a cry but stumbled along behind him, trying not to lose her hand.

_Time to save the girl._

Or so he thought. A glance up told him that dreams were clouds. Sometimes, so damned unreachable.

A short, ruddy demon slammed into the barred glass front doors, shattering the thick plates into broken webs. And he wasn't the only one. Past the windows, a number of demons had taken to the streets. Spike grimaced, coming to a sudden stop, eyes darting for another exit.

"Upstairs!" the girl at his side shouted.

Without another word, she put it in reverse, yanking the vampire to her right, toward the hidden staircase.

Spike didn't have time to question her, a "chinging" cash register flying by his head. "Faster!"


	3. Witch

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**Angel.**_

**Author's Notes: Yes, so I've returned. I've been taking my older stories that were On Hold and repairing them and their storylines. After several requests for continuation, **_**The Book Girl**_** is officially off hiatus now. **

**III.**

"Up here!" Hermione snapped, dragging the man along.

The staircase to the upper room was a bit nontraditional in its hidden location behind a slender, closet-style door, something that she'd found odd when she'd first decided to lease this portion of the building for her store. However, now she couldn't be happier to have an extra door between her and the shop. She saw the man slam it, throwing the bolt into place before he let himself be pulled up the narrow, wooden stairs.

"Hurry," she hissed, as if whispering would stop the creatures outside from knowing where their prey had gone. Slipping her wand to the man's side, she muttered, "_Colloportus." _

The door sealed shut with a wet-sounding squelch.

The man spotted the wand when she pulled it away, his brow drawn in thought.

"Hurry," Hermione repeated.

Upstairs. She bit her lip, annoyed with herself for putting one of her best forms of protection (aside from her wand) so far from her person. The coin was a simple thing, a variation from the one Dumbledore's Army had used, but it was powerful in its effect. It was for emergencies only, a way of contacting her friends who kept its matches. And in turn the ministry, as it were. Whatever that creature, that demon, was, it had ugly friends of its own, and it was something the magical community could help fight, she was sure.

Activating the coin would send a buzz through the pockets of several trained wizards and witches and save her and her new muggle tag-along, she was sure. She just had to get to it.

"Is there a way to the roof?" the man asked. Looking annoyed when she turned her head, he snapped. "Is there a bloody way out from the upstairs' room?"

She opened her mouth to speak but screeched instead. A sudden tremor had run through the staircase. Her heel slipped on the stair above her, and she fell back into the man behind her. Thankful, his balance was better, and he didn't stumble back.

"Earthquake?" she asked.

He shook his head, shielding her with his body as the door below exploded into shards of wood. The demon had taken the entry with a running start, and the spell had refused to hold.

Hermione put her wand arm behind the man's back, aiming it at the fierce creature. "_Impedimenta,_" she shouted.

The spell slapped the creature at the gut, but the demon was still moving, only slightly slower than before. It was be upon them in seconds.

Hermione's eyes widened at the raging creature, but the man pushed her up to the next step. She turned back on course, lunging at the door. She pulled the man through and slammed the door shut, sealing it, despite the spell's apparent uselessness.

The room was simple and orderly, the trunk against one wall somewhat out of place for any muggle visitors, but Hermione ran towards it as if it held the Holy Grail. With a flick of her wand, the top flew up and the coin floated out of its contents, ready for her. She snatched it from the air, tapping it with her wand's tip to activate it. It glowed a bright red before dulling.

_What's wrong with it? _Hermione's eyes narrowed. The message that should have appeared was missing, the coin's magical strength drained. "What in Merlin's beard is wrong with this thing?"

"Oh, hell," the man snapped, "don't tell me this was your plan."

Hermione rounded on him, her mouth at a tight line. "Would you stop that!" she snapped. "I'm trying to get us help!"

"You're a witch," the man noted. At her expression, he continued, "What, you 'spect a bloke not to notice a wand being waved around his head?"

Hermione shook off her initial shock. "I thought you were a muggle," she replied.

At the man's look of confusion, she felt her frustration rising again. _How the hell does he know about magic but not muggles? _

She had no time to pose her question. A bang had sounded through the room, followed by the sickening rip of flesh. Hermione felt her heart in her throat as she looked down from the man's stunned face to his torso, where a long, crimson-stained horn had pierced the door behind and impaled him through his right lung.

Her body grew cold at the sight of the man, spitting fresh blood past his split lips, seemlying choking as he tried to call out to her. The horn jerked down, and his body slid forward onto the floor.

Hermione could see the creature through the hole in the door. It was backing up to charge again. The witch threw up her wand hand, saying the first spell to cross her mind.

"_Deprimo!" _

The spell jumped out of her wand, blowing a hole through the doorway and through the creature behind it. The demon looked down in confusion at the dripping cavern in its chest before collapsing back down the staircase.

Hermione could hear the noises downstairs, the heavy fall of footsteps. _More of those creatures, no doubt._ Without a second thought, she slid across the floor, grabbing hold of the man's arm.

She felt a wave of nausea pass through her as she apparated, pulling the man along with her for the ride. Her strength wasn't exhausted, but she hadn't performed a side-along apparition more than once and the effort was straining. She aimed for a spot, an alleyway she'd walked down earlier in the week. It was only a few blocks away. She hoped it would do.

Her uneasiness lifted as she felt herself land on solid ground, the man laying stomach first on the pavement beside her. A dumpster blocked her from seeing the street beyond, but she could hear the screams filtering through the city.

_How many of these things are there?_

Hermione shook her head, deciding to concentrate on the man. He might actually have answers. If he could still give them. Before she could roll him over, he released an angry groan, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

"Stay still," Hermione said, worry lacing her voice as she surveyed the wound passing through his back. Would a repairing spell work on something this severe? "I don't know how you're still conscious."

Hermione lifted her wand. The man's hand shot out to grab her wrist. He opened and closed his mouth, as if arguing with himself over a proper response.

"What's your name?" he sputtered, rolling himself onto his side.

"Hermione," she replied. She twisted, trying to move out of the man's grasp, but he was surprisingly strong. "If you know I'm a witch, then you know that I can heal you," she explained.

"It'll heal without you," he said, looking past her. "I've got an advantage."

His eyes shifted from blue to a feline yellow, his brow lowering. He opened his mouth to growl, his fangs extending.

Hermione pulled loose from his grasp, falling back onto the pavement. "You're a vampire. . ."

The man cocked his heavy brow, nodding at something over her shoulder. "And he's a demon, love."


	4. Vampire

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**Angel.**_

**A/N: Thanks for the responses. I'm glad to see people are still enjoying this! By the way, I was listening to Three Days Grace's "Get Out Alive" while writing this.  
**

**IV.**

Game faces were reserved for games. Spike felt the demon coming before he saw it and his mask slipped off. It was time to play. Witchy witness or no.

"You're a vampire. . ."

"And he's a demon, love," he noted, averting his eyes from hers. He didn't need to look at the girl to know that she was afraid of the creature he'd revealed himself to be. And rightly so.

Spike grabbed the witch by the shoulder, pushing her against the dumpster before the demon could swoop down to strike her across the head. The demon itself was something new for the vampire; it was the size of a man's torso with no legs or arms to contend with but two wide sets of wings spreading out of either side and a set of pinchers at its rear end. From the size of the sharp, boney projections, he had an idea of what the demon had wanted from the witch, and it didn't involve a quick trim of her curling locks. The pinchers opened and its body curved inward as it dove forward like an oversized wasp.

Weaponless, the vampire snarled and threw himself at the demon's center. He ignored the pinchers cutting into his sides and threw a fist up into the demon's muzzle, cracking something beneath the flesh. Yellow puss oozed out of one of its six beady eyes but the creature seemed relentless. Its wings slapped him against the head, and the pinchers swiveled against his jacket and found the wound at his stomach.

"Bloody bastard!" Spike snarled, his face contorted in pain.

He heard movement to his side and felt the girl's hand wrap around his arm. His eyes swept down, just in time for him to see her wand hit the pinchers.

"_Diffindo,_" she hissed.

A split second later the pinchers were severed from the creature's body. The demon gave a loud buzz before hovering over the pair and crash landing in the open top of the dumpster. Its wings fluttered loudly as it slammed itself against the metal walls like a fly behind a curtain. After another strike it grew quiet.

Spike held himself up, pressing a hand against his wound. His bruised face twisted into a snarky smile when he looked down at the girl gripping him above the elbow.

"Not bad, witch," he said. Her name waited for him on the edge of a memory. What had she said exactly? "Got a way with the wand, eh," her name came to him, along with another thought, "Queen Hermione?"

The witch's eyes brightened. "You know Shakespeare?"

Spike pulled back his grin, musing_, 'I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true.'_

"Not that old," he scoffed. Seeing her stunned expression, he released a very human sigh. _Call me dramatic._ "But I've read the stuff. You as good with words as your namesake?"

She blinked, as if reminding herself of the quick introduction that was only one-sided. The witch's eyes had dimmed somewhat as she continued to look at the vampire's savage mouth.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

The vampire groaned slightly, straightening himself. She released him when she saw that he could stand. He stared down at her, somewhat surprised that she hadn't ran from him yet. After all, what sort of mess up bird stayed with a vampire?

"Spike," he muttered. He shook his head toward the alley's entrance. "Sounds like we're going to have more company."

Hermione shook her head, walking past the dumpster, muttering under her breath. She traced a line with her wand. Every place it touched lit up in crimson sparks, seemingly burning on pavement and air alone. She finished the barrier from one wall to the other. When she stepped back, the flames rose to five feet.

She turned back to him, a small smile on her face. "Think that will work?" she asked, sounding doubtful.

"Buys us a few minutes for talk of the weather," he said.

"Looks as if we can expect brimstone showers." The witch frowned, as if making a sudden realization. "Do you know what's going on? What's happened to the city? Has there been some sort of attack? How many demons are out there?"

"Whoa now. . ." Spike threw up a hand to slow her down. _If that's not a ramble in the making, I'm not sure what is. If I didn't know better I'd call that panic curiosity. Odd bird. _ "One question at a time, starting with mine. Why aren't you more afraid?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "I am. I'm just not in a state."

"What's a wand waver doing in this city? I haven't met another here." The vampire lost his fangs, blinking down at her with a man's blue eyes. "From what I've seen of witches, even they're put 'in a state' at the sight of a vampire."

The witch took a step forward, her wand cautiously raised at her waist. "Those. . .demons. They're not under the wizarding ordinances. Who's in charge of controlling them?"

Spike snorted. He regretted the move when blood trickled down his nostrils. He resisted the urge to lick it. "Guess you could say they were being held back by a lawfirm. They got released on the city. If you're smart, you'll use your magic stick there to get the hell out of the state."

The witch paused, as if thinking the option over. "You're fighting them." She didn't frame the statement as a question. "You're a vampire—but you saved my life."

"Think you've returned the favor, love," the vampire said, his eyes drifting back to the barrier where a few demons had turned to glare at the wall of fire, testing it with claws. Thankfully, none of them had wings.

Hermione shook her head. "Then you're domesticated?"

Spike blinked before shaking his head in outrage. "Excuse me? Did you just utter the word 'domesticated'? Do I look like a bloody dog to you?"

The girl's face reddened. "I suppose I shouldn't judge a species based on gossip," she answered.

"Yes, you should." The vampire rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're an idealist—you'd be a fool of a corpse to trust a vampire. Well, 'sides from me, of course. But most of them don't have souls," he reasoned.

A scream cut them off. They turned to see a woman's figure run past the wall of flame. A trio of demons was in pursuit. Hermione stepped towards the fire, but Spike reached out, grabbing her shoulder to stop her. He squeezed gently when he heard the crunch of bones, even from far away.

"Too late for her," he said, wincing when a chill ran over the girl's skin.

He pulled away from her, shaking his head in the direction of the street. The ground shook under their feet and a tall shadow fell over the entrance of the alley.

"What's that?" Hermione breathed.

Spike shook his head. "Let's not find out."

His eyes danced over to the fire escape to their right. Perhaps they could find a safe way out from the rooftop. . .

"I can get us further out," Hermione answered. She slipped her hand into his, her dark eyes dancing over his torn and bleeding form. Her voice broke slightly. "Just hold on tight. I'm new to this."

"Aren't we all," Spike answered.

A resounding pop exploded in the alleyway.


	5. Bookworm

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**Angel.**_

**V.**

Hermione remembered apparating. She didn't remember being hit by a diesel. However, the ache in her head insisted that she and a semi had been intimate. The witch groaned, protesting the hand that was shaking her to wakefulness.

She opened her eyes, and her body jumped in surprise when she saw Spike's face hovering a few feet over her. The vampire was on his knees beside her.

"There you are," he muttered, leaning away from her when he saw her panicked expression. "You alright?" he asked.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows and loosened her hands slightly. Her knuckles were white over her clenched wand.

"What happened?"

Spike raised a brow. "I was hoping you'd tell me," he answered.

He stood to his feet, outstretching a hand to help her up. She took it graciously, holding on a bit longer when a wave of dizziness passed over her.

"Something must have went wrong in the apparation," she said, staring out at the landscape. They were on a plot of deadened grass between two opposing sides of the interstate. "As I said, I'm not very experienced in traveling with another person. Still, I've never heard of anyone stopping mid-trip. Usually one just loses a body part."

"Good of you to mention that," Spike scoffed.

The witch could tell his heart wasn't in it; he was too engaged in his own thoughts. She followed his eyes, taking in her surroundings once more. There was something odd going on, aside from the obvious chaos breaking out in the city behind them. She turned a full circle before the muggle in her woke up.

"Why aren't there any vehicles coming this way?" she asked, mostly to herself.

Even in the wee hours of the night, there was constant traffic in and out of a city the size of Los Angeles. But along this slender median, no cars passed. She looked back at the city. They weren't officially out of limits but past most of the major businesses. She turned again; ahead of them, less than a mile up the interstate sat the trucking station she had been aiming to apparate behind. She could see massive semi trucks turning around at the station, going about their normal business, but she watched as their headlights turned from them, the vehicles choosing to go further away from L.A.

"Look," Spike said, pointing at a sign up ahead. It was a big goodbye from the city. "I don't think you fouled up your spell, love."

Hermione put together his conclusion. "Something's keeping us inside the city?"

"And everyone else out, from the looks of it," Spike noted.

The witch sighed. That explained her coin and why the U.S's wizarding government hadn't arrived with aid. "And it seems as if no one is aware of the fact," Hermione added. Her frown deepened. "It's a magical barrier, obviously, but a basic barrier wouldn't be able to cover a location of this size or stop both muggle and magical communication devices. Or make those outside completely unaware of its existence. Whatever this is, it's powerful."

"Bloody lawyers," Spike muttered. "They tend to clean up their messes."

"I can assume this has to do with the people who released the demons?"

An explosion rumbled into the sky over L.A.'s heart. The pair turned back. An orange glow broke the evening sky, throwing up in its wake a cloud of gray, luminescent dust and smoke. Hermione could barely make out the building the explosion had come from, but she thought she'd recognized its location. An apartment building near the muggle bank she used.

_Oh, Merlin. There were so many people in there!_

Her expression was stricken, and she attempted to drop the shock from her face. It didn't work. She could feel Spike's eyes on her.

"What can we do?" she asked.

Spike straightened somewhat, as if he'd be waiting for her reaction. "We need to find a way to get people out of the city," he answered. "But I'm just an observer to the dark arts, witch, so I'm hoping you've got a better plan than beat the barrier to a pulp."

_I could wait it out—the Ministry's bound to overcome the barrier's effects eventually. _Hermione's brow furrowed in thought. _Eventually being the worrisome word. _"It'll be difficult to drop the barrier," she finally replied, "without knowing the exact source of its power and who exactly lifted it in the first place." She paused. "However, there might be a way to rip a hole in it, if only temporarily. It wouldn't help in an evacuation, but it might allow a messenger to get through and bring back aid."

"Can you do it?"

Hermione blinked. "Well," she began, "maybe. If I could find the right spell, I could probably pull it off. But barrier magic, though widely used in some countries, is fairly old news. Something this complicated. . . the right incantation would be hard to find."

"But can you do it?"

"Yes. Possibly," she said. "If I had the right book. Which I might, I just received a package of Persian texts that deal specifically with wards."

Spike threw his head back, groaning through his teeth. "Let me guess." He looked down at her, his blue eyes narrowed. "The books are at the store we just vacated."

Hermione winced. "Yes. All of them, I'm afraid."

"Didn't expect to die over a good read, love."

"Sorry," the witch muttered. She cocked her head, staring back over her shoulder as if she could see the offending barrier. "No reason to be so dramatic quite yet," she said, her voice higher. She eyes sparkled as they roamed the area. "If my reasoning's correct, I might know a way of not only getting back into the bookstore but clearing it out enough to establish a temporary stronghold."

Spike raised a crooked brow.

"That is," she added, "if you're up for a fight."

The vampire smiled.

**End Notes: I apologize for the shortness of this update. Anyhow, the barrier around L.A. was an idea taken, in part, from the **_**Angel **_**comic series **_**After the Fall**_**. Like I said, I don't really plan on following those comics, but I'm incorporating a few ideas to my liking. Thanks for reading—drop me a line. **


	6. Poet

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**Angel.**_

**A/N: Thanks for all the great response, guys!  
**

**VI.**

"If you're up for a fight."

Spike didn't hold back his smirk. He couldn't tell what was more amusing, the sentiment or the fact that the witch seemed to find her own statement slightly amusing. She'd known him for an hour and had seen the fighter inside already. Perhaps he was too damned easy to read. _'Least for a book girl._ Or maybe she just had experience with his type.

"What's the plan?" he asked.

His smile had drifted when the smell of smoke and dust had met his nose again. It wasn't easy for him to forget the destruction going on in the core of the city, not with his senses.

"Can you keep the demons off me while I put up a barrier of my own?"

"That sounds far easier than I'm sure it is."

Hermione raised a brow.

"I'm right, aren't I?" Spike asked. "That's the way it is with magic."

"You seem to know more about magic than you're letting on," Hermione countered.

She came very close to rolling her eyes. The witched reached out hesitantly, gripping hold of his wrist with her thin fingers and not noticing how the vampire's eyes darkened at her touch. She took a breath, and Spike thought of pulling away in the last instant.

"If you do your part," she continued, "trust me, I can do mine."

Her dark eyes bore into him, searching him for confirmation.

"Let's go al. . ."

Spike hadn't gotten the last word out before the strange pulling sensation swept through his body as the witch yanked him along. A split second later, he found himself dazed and looking around the front room of the little book shop. And at a demon with shark's teeth and narrow, feline eyes.

". . .ready," Spike hissed, pushing the woman beside him to the floor. He dodged the demon's blow, throwing a fist into the creature's face. His knuckles came back fleshless.

"Shit," Spike growled, letting his monster come to surface. He threw the same fist out—no reason to ruin the other one—and took the moment to get back into the fight. "Let's play, fish boy."

He ripped the siding off of the closest counter, rolling beneath the demon's swiping limbs. When he shot back up, he slid the slender piece of wood into the creature's mouth, presumably to where its brain lay. It went stiff and toppled over. Something moved in the back room.

_Looks like the shark brought friends. My lucky day. _

Spike froze when he realized Hermione was no longer beside him. He turned a full circle, relaxing again when he saw her behind the cashier's counter, digging through a book on the floor, her wand steady in one hand.

Her eyes darted up. "First barrier's going up!" she announced.

She left out the obvious, that they needed to finish up the two in the back. Spike darted into the nearly destroyed storage room, the light from the alley spreading over the fallen shelves and torn pages littering the floor. A man-sized hole lined the back wall where a door used to be. In fact, it was very much a Spike-sized hole. He cocked his head at the thought before ducking a blow from behind.

"Not your type again," he sighed, dodging left out of one sharp pincher's way. _Damned wasp men!_

With a snort of frustration, he ran for the opening into the alleyway where horned, fanged, and clawed chaos lined the space from wall to wall. The flying demons flew out behind him. Seeing something that resembled a vampire with a rhinoceroses sticking out of its back, Spike shook his head in frustration, dropping to the ground. The wasp-like creatures swooped out of the shop after him. He doubled back on them, sliding under their fast forms and back through the brick and plaster window just in time to see a bright yellow light seal the space behind him.

Rhino-neck tumbled back off of the now transparent barrier, and Spike scoffed, throwing the demon the bird.

Spike stumbled back out into the main room with a raised brow. A heap of smoldering demon carcass lay at the exposed front door, its form cut in half by the invisible wall that lifted over it. He looked down at the witch now sitting on the counter.

She shrugged, a slight, cold smile on her face.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," she said, before he had the chance. Her face was pale and grayish, her energy drained.

"I'm beginning to see that," he said.

The vampire leaned against the stripped counter, a few inches from her shoulder, his eyes dancing over the frustrated demons behind the barrier as they bounced off.

"It's a rather weak barrier," she said. "It'll break down quickly if they keep that up."

"How do you expect me to keep them from it?" he asked, straightening again. "Play bloody _Oprah _reruns through the window?"

Hermione perked up suddenly, jumping down and aiming her wand at the door.

"_C__ave Inimicum,_" she muttered.

"What was that supposed to do?"

Spike's question was answered when the demons who'd previously taken to head-butting the invisible wall between them suddenly stepped back, as if they'd found more interesting prey somewhere else.

"I wasn't sure if that would work on demons," Hermione announced. "It's a spell to keep enemies away but was designed with wizards in mind. I've always assumed that it might work on predators, but. . ."

"Don't need the lesson, love," Spike interrupted. He turned to face her, noting her hurt expression. Wanting to rid her of it, he continued, "Nifty though. Why didn't you have something like that up in the first place? Someone alone in the city could use all the protection they could afford."

Hermione shook off her frown. "I thought everyone who wanted me dead was gone for good."

"Something tells me there's an interesting story behind that."

She took in a deep breath, her eyes aging slightly. "Interesting for some, I suppose." Her voice rose slightly. "But that's not fair, is it? You've probably been alive ages longer. I'm sure you've loads of tales."

"I could make something up," he replied.

She bit back a laugh, punching his arm playfully. Her eyes widened when she caught herself in the movement. Hermione released an embarrassed laugh.

"Sorry, there, I just I thought I was with. . ."

"Your old mates?" Spike asked. At her nod, he smirked. "They have interesting stories, too, I'd gather." He shook his head. "Suppose I've never met a witch without one."

"How do you know about magic, Spike? Our community isn't quite out in the open."

Spike licked is lips, only the taste of caked blood reminding him that his face was still a vampire's. He hadn't noticed. Hermione's eyes hadn't given him away. And his thought. . .had been a poet's thoughts at the moment.

_You're a strange one, witch. _

"Don't we have a barrier to poke a hole in?" he asked.

Hermione jumped at the remaindered. "Of course," she mustered, "the texts are in the storage room."

Spike winced. "Good luck sorting through that. . ."

The witch's shoulders stiffened, her gaze narrow. "What happened to my books?"

She rushed into the back room before he had a chance to answer. A stream of swears filled the air. _Well, I for one don't want to be on the other end of her wand at the moment._

But the mirth in his eyes drifted away. She'd looked at his demon and hadn't turned away. Spike swallowed hard, downing the metallic substance floating around his busted mouth. It hadn't burned her, after all.

"Idiot," he muttered, shaking his head. Pulling himself together, he stepped into the storage room.


	7. Thinker

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter**_** or **_**Angel.**_

**VII.**

Hermione prided herself on the ability to do two complicated things at once, but even she was finding herself strained as the vampire paced the floor in front of her while she poured over the book. It was harder than she'd expected to think of him and the barrier. Her honey eyes moved from the ancient text before her to the lithe man holding the nail-spiked board in one hand. He tapped the side of it against his palm, releasing a sigh of boredom. Because she knew that he didn't need to breath, the sound greatly annoyed the witch. Hermione huffed under her breath and snapped the book shut, stirring up a cloud of dust.

Spike paused, snorting at her tart movement.

"Well?" he inquired.

"I think the first one was of more use," she said, softly, her mind wondering back to the enclosed scrolled beside her. She picked it back up, waving it slightly. "It might be our only choice."

"What's the what, then, love?"

Hermione restrained the glare on her face. "Wait until I have a clearer answer," she replied.

Spike raised a cut brow. "That's never a good answer. Means there's something you don't want to share with the class."

The tip of her wand stayed with the scroll as she unrolled it. The extra precaution wasn't exactly necessary; she'd already had the text magically sealed to preserve its state. Nevertheless, she treated the crisp, yellow material as if she were holding her own newborn in her hands.

"I might be mistaken," she answered, simply. With a shrug, she began to reread the text, using another, more modern paperback companion to aid where the original translation might have been jumbled. "You'll be happy to know that it is a barrier breaking spell, though."

"Doesn't ease me at the moment," Spike concluded. He stepped towards the desk, flinching when a demon bounced off the barrier at the back door. "Not going to hold much longer, is it?"

"No," Hermione breathed. Her fingers shook a bit when her concentration went back to the text.

The small barrier she'd put around the bottom half of the shop had nearly exhausted her—the mere idea of the amount of power it would take to cover all of L.A. astounded her. And she knew there was no certain way to counter such strength, not without consequence. _I just wish I had the answer he wanted_.

The desk creaked as Spike sat at one edge, staring down at the scroll as if its words made sense to him. Hermione felt nervous under his scrutiny, and the sudden silence left her scrambling for the bout of curiosity she'd encountered earlier. She remembered the questions she'd wanted to ask, and her mouth dried out quickly, before she could open it.

"What is it?" he supplied.

She didn't look up from her work, keeping some small fragment of her confidence in check when she answered.

"You said that you have a soul and that most vampires don't," she began. The witch coughed up some dust to clear her throat. "How is that exactly? The little knowledge I have of vampires doesn't include spiritual theories. Is this a well known argument or simply something of a western, theological idea?"

"Spiritual theories?" Spike scoffed. "You don't know much about vampires if you think the soul is a theory."

"I didn't say that; I know the soul is real," Hermione snapped. She swallowed hard, holding back the need to say the first word that ran through her head: horocrux. Yes, she definitely knew that souls existed. "I was asking if you were being literal."

"Yeah, then. Bout as literal as a bloke can be," Spike answered. He looked down at something on his ragged, stained fragment of a shirt. "When a person dies, the soul moves on. When some poor sob is sucked and poured a red drink, he dies and comes back, without the soul, with a demon in its place. All the basics are still there, the memories, the mannerisms. But that Jiminy Cricket is a spot on the bottom of his shoe."

"So a vampire is without a conscience?" Hermione confirmed.

"That's the drift of it." Spike stood up, glaring outside at the streetlight filtering, almost as bright as the lamp beside the witch. "At least, the human inside doesn't give a rat's ass what he's doing. The demon seems to have a fuzzy viewpoint."

"But, when you were. . .made. . .you had a soul?"

Spike grew silent, as if a realization had dawned on him. "No," he answered. "I'd lost mine like all the rest."

Hermione stared at his back, a shiver running down her spine. "Oh."

"You got anything new on that spell?" Spike asked.

Hermione shook her head. Spike must have realized she was moving because he turned to glance at her. When he did, their eyes met in a moment of bounding questions. Hermione bit her lip and released it again, unable to stop the student still within her from speaking.

"Then how did you get yours? And you talked as if you're not the only vampire with a soul—what happened? Is that how you know about the wizarding community?" Hermione babbled.

Spike blinked, the seriousness on his face fading slightly at the ambushing interrogatives.

"I know at least one other bugger with a soul. Probably should say it's 'not my tale' or whatnot, but I really don't care if I hurt Peaches' broodiness," he said, unable to stop the smirk at the corner of his lips. "My grand-sire, as it were, got a soul cursed on him by an angry gypsy. Remembered everything he did as a murderous sob, so he went the redemption path after a while. Don't think the gypsies were wand-wavers, though."

"And you?"

Spike's eyes danced in the dull light. "Wanted to give a girl what she wanted, what she deserved," he answered. His voice was laced with a strange mixture of fondness and disappointment. "My demon and I, we thought it was love, or close as a vampire can get to it. So I got a soul for her. Turns out it's not enough."

"You could have gotten it taken away again," Hermione said, with sudden certainty. " Your soul," she clarified. "But you didn't."

"Not the point."

The witch had paused in her reading several minutes earlier and now found herself staring at the symbols as if they were a child's art project. Her mind was reeling at the new information. She found a small part of herself smiling, almost girlishly, at what she'd found the most interesting piece of his story. His own. His love. _Who does he remind me of?_ Her smile drifted, slowly and painfully, as she remembered a conversation she'd had with Harry, after the dead had been laid down. Her best friend had told her about their late professor, the one they'd all assumed a traitor. Harry had told her again why he'd come to trust Snape. Snape had loved Lily Evans and had never had her, but his fight in her name had continued.

Hermione looked up at the vampire with fresh interest, her face a confused array of emotion as she tried to frame something proper to say. She realized the silence between them had returned and that he'd kept her gaze held, his own curiosity now showing as he attempted to read her expression.

When he looked away, Hermione felt the tension between them tighten like a rubber band. She shook her head, going back to her text. "Must have been an interesting experience," she said.

Spike chuckled slightly. "Now, if you're done avoiding the bad news," he began, gesture down at the desk.

Her hands slid over the now empty wooden crate beside the books. It was the size of a banana box and half filled with stuffing. It was empty of new texts. She'd made it through her Persian collection in a little over an hour. She closed her eyes, holding back the disappointment there.

"The first scroll," she answered. Her chin bobbed down at the ancient text at her finger tips. "It's the only one that's been of any real use. And the spell within it is less than ideal. For starters, it calls for compensation."

Spike's wrinkled brow told her he was already lost.

She ground her teeth, thinking of how to phrase their problem. "In barrier magic, a great power source must be used to sustain the barrier's integrity. This spell looks like what we need—it does exactly what we want. It cuts a slice out of the barrier. But the rule of compensation calls for a change in the power source as well."

"And?"

"I think the power source is the dimensional hole that's letting the demons out." Hermione frowned. "In other words, if we cut a hole in the barrier and it's getting its strength from the hole the demon's came from, we run the risk of widening the existing dimensional door."

Spike ran a fist against his forehead, a grimace on his face. "Meaning if we cut a hole, more demons flood the city."

"And more people die."

"But if there's not another way," Spike began.

"It's not worth it," Hermione replied, shaking her head. "Spike, the hole in the barrier might not close back. Demons flood into the city and out the hole. They'll spread like a plague, and any aid we get might be too late."

"Or it might not." Spike reached out, taking the scroll from her and rolling it up. He shoved it back into her hands, grabbing hold of her wrist. "There's a lot of mights in your answer and we've got too little time to waste on them. Hermione, you've got to do this."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "I won't."

A yellow light streaked across the back wall, and the shop's barrier collapsed around them.

"And you've got to do it now." Spike frowned.


	8. Hero

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter **_**or **_**Angel.**_

**A/N: Back by popular demand. Thanks for hanging on, guys. I hope you enjoy the update. **

**VIII.**

"Hermione." Spike wasn't sure why her name suddenly felt so heavy on his tongue. But it weighed a ton, and as soon as it passed his lips, it landed on his chest. "You've got to do this."

He knew her answer before she could say it, but the pig's blood in his body was pumping for a fight. For more. For doing. The demon within couldn't be contained by simply remaining static. No. He had to change her mind. He had to make her _move_. Make her_ do_, even if she didn't want to.

"I won't," she bit.

He knew her reason was a damn good one. So many dead, so many more to die if the crack in this magical bubble got bigger. But his reason was good too: faith.

He wasn't sure where this faith in her came from, but it was there. He opened his mouth, but he didn't have time to share his reason. A streak of yellow shot out from the corner of his eye. The barrier had failed at last.

Spike's fingers tightened around her wrist; the floor beneath him was vibrating as demons made contact with the front doorway. The world had been passing by in slow motion for those few seconds and now it was moving very fast again.

He frowned. "And you've got to do it now," he said.

The strange pull of his body near hers was shocking but quickly becoming familiar. A pop sounded in his ears as they landed, apparated was the word the witch had used, on a street's empty sidewalk. Spike took a whiff: ash was in the air, so heavy that he couldn't see the night sky above for it. He knew that it wasn't just drywall and burnt woodchips in the air, either. There were pieces of people in the cloud, destroyed beyond blood splatters and bone fragments. The witch had brought him close to the apartment building that had fallen, he realized.

The street they stood on was still almost untouched, a fire flaming at its furthest end the clearest evidence of the army headed its way. From the opposite direction, screams and shouts sounded from those who were trying to escape to a safer part of town. This stretch seemed abandoned by both the victims and the baddies, at least for the moment.

Spike's brow was knotted. Why were they here? There was a sharp twist in the pit of his stomach when he looked at the girl beside him, rubbing the kink out of her wrist, her wand tucked under her arm. She didn't look up at him, but he could see her cheeks flushed red beneath the shadow of her bangs. Earlier she'd been so pale, so aware of the grief around her. Now, he sensed she was either pissed or determined. Or both.

"Don't we need to be at the actual barrier to poke a hole in it?" he snapped.

"I said no." Her voice was low, set.

"We don't have a bloody option in this!" Spike threw his head back in frustration, a loud, unnecessary sigh pushing his nostrils wide.

_That's her answer then._

With a twitch of his gaunt cheek, he closed his eyes and tried to keep his game face from sliding on. He patted his side, finding his lighter, only afterwards realizing he'd smoked his last cigarettes before the main event. "Shit." He glanced at her. "If you're going let us both die horribly brutal deaths, the least you can do is find me a fag," he stated.

Hermione flicked her wand at the open door of the abandoned convenient store across the road. _"Accio cigarettes." _

A box flew past the door and into her hand. She handed them off with a cheeky grin.

"Show off," Spike muttered. He slammed them against his hand to push the tobacco down and glared at her as he prepared his little vice. "You won't fail, Hermione. I been around my own fair share of talented women, and they've all got one thing in common. They get the job done."

"For Merlin's sake, don't you see how horrible this could turn out?" she snapped. "I'm not saying that I can't do this spell. I can do the bloody spell! But it's not worth the sacrifice. If I do this, the city is going to fall even faster, and we're going to risk spreading this madness to the rest of the world."

"It won't spread!" Spike said. A cigarette sat between his lips, somehow staying balanced. He took a drag and pulled it away. "It won't spread because you're going to move at the speed of bloody light to get us reinforcements. You're going to get help before the demons even get a chance to surge out of that great big hole of theirs."

Spike grabbed her shoulder, stopping the word no from leaving her mouth and opened his to speak again. A sweep of wind against his back distracted him and he looked over his shoulder. The ruddy form descending from above the gray ash cloud was huge, its leathery wings stirring the dirty air around its yellow-scaled belly with every beat.

"Lovely," Spike hissed.

"Dragon," Hermione corrected.

She shook off his hand and raised her wand. The sound of movement from the closest alleyway grew loud and the grunts and clinks of metal became recognizable as the sounds of approaching demons. They were closing in fast.

Hermione seemed to notice the sounds as well, but she turned her attention back to the sky, her lips parting to release a spell.

"Wait," Spike breathed. The witch hesitated but kept her wand trained on the beast. The vampire squinted, making out the shape of a sword being held beside the dragon's neck. He followed the gleam up to a head of dark hair. "Peaches?"

Hermione raised a brow. "Is Peaches a pet of yours?" she asked, astonished.

Spike blinked before realizing what she meant. "Not the dragon--never mind. I know the vampire riding it."

"Good guy?" Hermione asked.

"He certainly thinks he is." Spike snorted. "Bloody ponce tamed the dragon. He'll be bragging for ages."

The creature lowered itself only a few feet further before the figure atop it waved down.

"Spike!" Angel leaned forward. "Need some help?" he called.

Spike rolled his eyes, throwing down his cig. "Prick!" he called. He could see a small grin on his grand-sire's face, even in the distance.

_Glad I'm still around then? That's a surprise._

"Illyria's on her way," Angel called down. Then he pulled at the belt he had snug against the dragon's throat and the beast buckled skyward before arching back towards the alleyway.

Less than a hundred yards away from the witch and vampire, the decapitated body of a ten foot demon flew out of the shadowed passage and onto the street. A split second later, its horned, reptilian head landed with a sick thud beside it. The roar from inside the alley seemed to grow even louder.

Spike tensed, placing himself to Hermione's unarmed side, his body hunched forward, as if preparing to jump in front of her. He glanced her wand and smirked.

"Curse anything that isn't a blue woman in purple armor," he said.

"What?"

Spike didn't have to explain. Such a woman appeared out of the alley, dragging a rather large, fleshy being that resembled in many ways Jabba the Hut if he'd been wearing Princess Leia's famed slave girl outfit. Spike cursed Andrew beneath his breath when the _Star Wars _related comparison surfaced.

"Merlin," Hermione breathed. And with good reason.

A swarm of raptor looking creatures, no taller than a man's chest, had scurried forward, ripping at the flesh of its fellow, fallen demon. A few broke away from the meat buffet and leapt over the carcass onto Illyria. The Old One brushed them off, but their nimble bodies and sharp claws were quickly becoming more than a nuisance to her.

Hermione hesitated only a moment, drawing in a deep breath before she aimed her wand. She chose a raptor demon at the alley's entry that had just caught sight of the couple on the street. She flicked her wand, pushing her strength into the spell.

"_Confringo!" _

The demon exploded into flames, catching three others afire in a second's time. A few of the other creatures seemed to notice where the spell had come from and turned towards Hermione, releasing angry shrieks. She sent the Impediment Curse their way, knowing that the jinx wouldn't slow down the demons for long.

"Go," Spike said.

Hermione turned her head, taking in his solemn face.

"It might make things worse," he said, his body tensing for the fight that would reach him in seconds, "but it'll be worth it. Get out of this city, Hermione. Get help, and save yourself."

She shook her head. Her throat was tight, not letting her reply. Fight or flight was upon her. She had been and still was a Gryffindor, and though she didn't have time to explain that to the vampire beside her, she knew her best reply was action. She silently sent a curse towards the approaching demons. Two more down in flames.

"I mean it!" Spike's blue eyes were stabbing a hole though the approaching creatures. "Stop pissing around and get out of here. This isn't your fight."

The world seemed to ignore the arguing pair for the moment. Illyria tossed the demons about as if they were no more than ragdolls. The sound of the flapping wings of the dragon was coming from between the walls of the narrow alley. Judging from the cries of pain boucing off the bricks, Angel and his new Fido were ripping their own fair share apart. The demons were flushing out onto the street, some escaping back towards the fire, back towards the alley where it all began. Others, the majority, were placing hunger over their own survival and turning to Spike and Hermione with thoughts of an easy meal.

"I'm staying," Hermione said.

Her eyes were wet, not with tears, but a fierceness Spike had seen before. He couldn't keep his own eyes off of hers, couldn't concentrate on jumping into the battle. He wanted to know the why. He needed to know.

"It's not your fight," he repeated.

She shook her head. "Probably not," she answered. "But I've fought beside heroes before, Spike. I know what I'm doing." A sad grin crossed her face. "I've fought a losing battle and won. This city doesn't have enough witches to keep it running. You're going to need me, and I'm not going to leave you here to die."

Spike didn't remind her that he was already dead. He couldn't. He'd lost the will. It was selfish, but a need of his had been met. She wasn't going to leave him. She had every reason to do so. She barely knew him. Yet, she was staying with him, through the flames. It had been a long time since someone was willing to stand at his side.

"I'm not a hero," he corrected. The human mask slipped away, his game face on. He grabbed a demon behind him and held it in a head lock. The spine beneath his arm snapped. "I'm just a bloke having a damn good day."

Her honey eyes stayed on him, even as she sent a spell over his shoulder.

"We'll see."


	9. Sunshine

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter **_**or **_**Angel. **_**As far as I know, the hospital is fake****. **_**  
**_

**A/N: Now, I hope this isn't confusing, but this story is divided into a second part here. The reason is that the first eight chapters were all set around this very short moment during the first evening of the battle. However, the ninth chapter and so on skips ahead a bit. Hopefully you'll understand what I'm talking about once you finish reading this chapter. **

**Part 2: The Witchy Woman**

**Interlude: **

_Like bees. Buzzing about in their hives, working, moving, constantly. And then suddenly interrupted by a slapping, godly hand. That was the state of the Los Angeles Hospital. _

_So many bodies, so many wounded. The victims of hell's wrath were many, and those who could walk or be carried were distributed throughout the sanctuaries of LA by the first morning light. Amongst those sanctuaries were the medical facilities; the one closest to the action was the LA Hospital. _

_The night before, it had been anything but a sanctuary. It had been a buffet for the flesh eaters. Easy pickings: order up a gurney, pour a pitcher of AB-. They tore and slit and ripped to their demon's content as nurse uniforms and open-backed robes disappeared into windowless rooms and closets, praying for a quick end. _

_Then _they'd _come, their saviors. And _they _had pushed the evil past the doors, the windows, and into the coming light of dawn. _

**IX.**

Hermione didn't like the basement. She should have been at home in the hospital library, but she wasn't. It wasn't full of information that peaked her curiosity; it was a tomb where forgotten papers went to die. The air was stale, the main room windowless, secure, and lonesome, which, she supposed, was the reason it and the temporary morgue located next door was so optimal as a center of operations in the hospital.

The basement had the strongest wards over it, ones that Hermione alone had set up over the past two days. The two Wiccans they'd found in the chaos had helped her set up the outer ward around this wing of the hospital. The injured, the dying, those seeking sanctuary, all of them had been shoved into a space that made up less than a third of the large facility. But it was the best Hermione could manage. And it was the only ground her side had managed to regain.

It had left her drained. Tired. Her magic on re-charge. So, it was a good thing that dawn had managed to scare enough of the demons away.

_Or maybe they weren't scared at all. Maybe they just wanted a nap before another full night of pillaging and murder. _

She winced, pushing the thought away. It had been true, after all. The second night had been as hard as the first. Order was lost. Well, the hospital had found its order. Spike's friend Angel had somehow managed to calm those who remained in the building, and those fleeing from the streets, enough that they'd been willing to work together. They'd gathered food, supplies, weapons.

The box of magic books next to Hermione was enough proof that they'd managed to work together.

"You are not injured."

The witch jumped at the cold tone of the voice. Illyria stood before her, stiff, a statue, her head cocked to one side ever so slightly. She was watching Hermione with intensity.

Hermione ignored the fact that, yes, she had been injured, minorly. But a slew of scratches and bruises did not amount for much in the Old One's eyes.

"No," Hermione chirped. She sat the book she was studying aside and slid off her seat atop the outdated aluminum desk, stretching out her legs. "Why do you ask?"

"I do not." Ilyria's gaze was confused. "Why are you pained if you have no injury?"

Hermione forced a small, chiding smile. "I'm not," she answered.

Illyria stepped forward, watching the young woman. "You lie."

"I'm not physically pained, I assure you," Hermione said. But even as she was speaking she knew that wasn't entirely true. Magic seemed more of a mental ability, but the truth was, it took strength. She had cast more defensive spells over the past two nights than most wizards did during a span of years. "Did Spike tell you to watch me?" Illyria didn't answer. "I'm a bit weak," Hermione finally admitted. "That's all."

"Yet you don't rest," Illyria commented.

Hermione knew that she wasn't the only one. Spike and Angel had left less than an hour ago, deciding their time was best spent in the sewers, tracking the demons down, finding out where they would attack from when night came once more. Spike had talked her out of joining them, pointing at her pile of books. He'd been right. This was where she was needed. Yet, she knew the answer wasn't here.

_Did I make the right choice? Should I have tried to leave? _Hermione didn't like asking herself that question. But she had to. She'd known the battle she was staying for, but then, at that moment, she'd thought there would be an end in sight. Something to fight towards. Now she wasn't so sure.

Where was the help she was sure would come? Where was the big bad evil that needed to be killed to stop the hordes from flowing forward?

"That's it!" Hermione hissed, and immediately blushed when she realized she'd associated Illyria with 'big bad evil.' "Illyria, Spike tried to explain to me your. . . origins," Hermione began. "You were--are," she quickly amended, "a powerful being, so perhaps you'd better understand my problem."

"Continue," Illyria said, sounding somewhat bored.

Behind her, a nurse helped a brittle-looking old man find a clear spot to sit near the library doors. The woman shot the strange pair a look of fearful respect before quickly turning away from their conversation.

Hermione ignored the audience and watched Illyria's expression for a moment more before concluding that the Old One was, so far, pleased with the way she'd been addressed. Spike had warned Hermione to watch her tongue around the being. In fact, he'd actually said something along the lines of "don't talk to her at all," but Hermione would, for now, ignore that advice.

"There's a dimensional opening that the demons are coming through--that's why their number is continuously increasing. Obviously, if we can close that opening, we'll be able to fend for ourselves more easily and concentrate on the barrier keeping us in this city." Hermione paused, taking a breath. "I've been concentrating so hard on finding a way to close the opening, that it didn't occur to me that it's probably taking as much power to keep the opening, well, _open_, as it is to keep the barrier _up_. One person wouldn't be able to perform such an intricate spell. Do you know of any way that this. . ." Hermione still had a hard time believing that it was a law firm at the root of this chaos, "Wolfram and Hart that you're fighting could possibly be channeling that much energy?"

Illyria straightened. Her arm shot out, cold fingers gripping on to Hermione's wrist.

"What are you doing?" Hermione snapped, trying to pull free. She stared at the creature with sudden panic. _Perhaps I should have heeded Spike's warning after all. . ._

"Take me to the barrier," Illyria demanded.

Her grip loosened slightly. Hermione stared at her.

"You can answer my question?" Hermione slowly asked.

Illyria glared at her. "The barrier."

The witch quickly nodded, gripping her wand in case the situation turned violent. She searched her mind, remembering the "Welcome to Los Angeles" sign that she and Spike had found themselves at when they'd attempted to escape the city.

A second later, a loud popping sound dissipated at their arrival in the grassy median between the two sides of the highway. Hermione blinked away the shock of bright sunlight in her eyes and took in her surroundings. They were alone, neither human nor demon had ventured so close to the impenetrable barrier. Illyria had not moved, staring at the open space before the wall, looking up, then down, as if she could see the wall itself.

The Old One reached out, touching the barrier with an open palm. A wave of blue electricity seemed to crackle against the invisible wall, crawling upward and out as if it were spreading like spilled water, and then it disappeared. Illyria pulled away from it, staring straight ahead at the outside world.

Hermione followed her gaze. The gas station she and Spike had been trying to reach that night still remained. But it had a new name on its faded sign and the building itself was different, dismal, abandoned. And it looked as if it had been that way for a very long time, judging from the skeletal vehicles littering its main drive.

"What is this?" Hermione asked, confused by the sight.

When she had first stared past the barrier, she'd seen a highway, trucks pulling off away from the city. But the vision before her was not remotely the same, and it wasn't just the daylight that had revealed this new truth to her: trucks were, indeed, on the roadway, but they were crammed amongst other vehicles, all of them empty of occupants. One was overturned, blacked from a fire long burned out. A skull sat on the pavement a few feet beyond the barrier, bleached by the sun and separated from the body down in the ditch. A spider's web had whitened one empty eye socket. It didn't belong to a human. There were spiraling horns protruding above each ear hole.

Hermione felt the thought coming. She tried to push it down, deny it merit. "This isn't real," she insisted. "This isn't what we saw two nights ago. This isn't… home."

Illyria didn't look at her but answered nevertheless. "Here is the reason, your answer. I could see through these weak glamours. I have been here once, before you kind was even a flicking tail in the primordial stew. This was a promising world then, for those of my. . . origin."

Suddenly it made a terrible sort of sense. The whys were answered, making room for even more questions. Hermione couldn't breath.

"Oh, _Merlin_. The city, all of us here," Hermione realized, "we've been brought to another dimension."

**End Notes: Ok, sorry for the lack of Spike in this chapter, but don't worry. The next one is all his, and I'll also tell you more about what happened between the events of chapter eight and this chapter. **


	10. Darkness

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Harry Potter **_**or **_**Angel.**_

**A/N: Sorry for the wait. I've been busy trying to meet anthology/magazine deadlines, and original fiction/poetry has taken over my life. **

**X.**

Spike had to give Angel credit: no one could brood like that ponce.

"This is our fault," Angel said, staring out of the hospital's second floor window. The sun was behind them, not a threat.

The two vampires still smelled like the sewers they'd just vacated. The pair would have stayed gone longer, searched further, but they'd found a small group of civilians, a few of which needed the extra arms to carry them. By all rights, Spike had expected Angel to act the part of the boss again, order him to help the humans back to the hospital sanctuary. Instead, he'd simply turned back as well, as if he no longer had the will to find the enemy.

"Our?" Spike snorted and then shrugged it off. "Probably right."

The older vampire remained in his fixed state, staring at the destruction. Billowing smoke rose from a bank a few blocks away. Spike turned away from the sight, sick of the reminder, and surveyed the room they were in. He realized that it was a lab; the demon in him thought it was time to raid the fridge for a snack. He put a leash on the craving.

"And you know what really helps?" Spike continued, somewhat frustrated by his hunger pangs. "Sitting on our hands and waiting for the bloody bastards to strike us again. We should get back to the sewers while we still have daylight left."

Angel opened his mouth, a grimace at his lips. Spike could almost hear his grandsire's harsh voice calling him a fool, reminding him of the thousand plus demons hiding on the streets of LA. Instead, Angel straightened his back, looking over his shoulder.

"Check on your friend, see if she has anything new."

_Your friend. _Spike was somewhat thrown by that… title. Friend. It seemed so odd, stranger still that it was accurate and applicable to someone he'd met a day earlier. Spike opened and closed his mouth before indignantly stating, "She has a name, you know."

The thought of Hermione made Spike moved towards the door to obey, but he stopped before the frame, rolling his eyes. He turned back and stomped to the window. With a slightly regretful look in his eyes, he slapped Angel across the back of the head. He managed to dodge Angel's fist, if not the opposite hand that reached out, clenching his jacket in a vice. Angel pushed him back against the lab counter. Paperwork floated down to the floor.

"We don't have time for games, Spike," he growled. He released the younger vampire, giving him a second, lighter shove. His voice didn't raise an octave when he added, "Go. Now."

"You don't have to go all bloody Christian Bale on me," Spike muttered. He winced at his own Pop-news remark. _Self, do kill Andy boy one of these days. _"You need to wake up. I don't know what's crawled in your ass, but the world's not standing still for your little mope session. Now, either--"

"She wasn't here," Angel interrupted. His voice was low, probably too low for anyone without preternatural powers to hear. When Spike didn't reply, he continued, "I don't know why I expected her to come. I didn't give her a heads up. Didn't ask for help. But a part of me was expecting her to show up last minute."

Spike closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound. "Buffy."

Angel moved his head. It could have been interpreted as a nod. "After Andrew showed, after those slayers took Dana away, I assumed she'd be watching. That she'd see my bad behavior. Realize what was happening." He licked his bottom lip. "She didn't."

"Our own damned fault," Spike answered, not wanting to think it through.

"Yeah." Angel paused, his brow wrinkled in frustration. "Hell's pouring out. You'd think Willow would have gotten the memo by now."

"Probably neck high in their own big bad, knowing that group's track record." Spike grinned. "We don't have the copyright on apocalypses, you know."

Silence crawled into the room like a creature with four legs, sniffing about and leaving again. The vampires could hear the sounds from the floors below, of people, victims of this mess, waiting, whispering, afraid. Good guys were needed.

Angel straightened his back. "We need to get to work," he said.

"'Bout time." Spike raised a finger in note. "I'll go check on my _friend_, then."

Angel opened his mouth, a hesitating sound making its way out. "She--Hermione," Angel forced, "she did a good job last night. Setting up the wards. We're lucky you found her."

"I'll thank her for you." Spike took a blow from behind and stumbled forward a few steps. A red-cheeked Hermione stood behind him with an apologetic smile on her face. "Or," Spike finished, "you can tell her yourself."

"So sorry." Hermione nodded her head in acknowledgment of Angel. "Someone said you'd returned from the sewers and that you were up here of all places, so I ran down the hall looking for you, and I heard voices in this room--"

"And you found my backside," Spike noted. "Got a ramble free explanation for why you're here, love?"

Hermione bit her tongue, took a breath, and released. "We're in trouble. Actually, not just us, but the world. Our world, which isn't really this world, come to find out."

Spike raised a brow. "Come again?"

The brow remained raised when Illyria stepped in behind Hermione. While not necessarily much taller than the witch, the Old One was imposing, a long indigo shadow of the girl. She stepped beside Hermione, forcing both of them to move further into the room.

"The witch transported us to the boundary," Illyria said, and though her tone remained the same, the slowness with which her voice came out made it seem as if she were addressing small children. "I lifted the illusion."

"And what we saw last night wasn't what I saw today," Hermione finished, holding Spike's eyes with her own.

"You were outside?" Angel asked, annoyed. He was ignored. His demeanor changed almost automatically when Hermione's statement finally resurfaced. "Dimensional travel."

Spike stared down at her and blinked, realization dawning on him. "Someone wanted us to believe we were still home?"

"That's--"

Angel cut Hermione off. "Not someone," he snapped. "Wolfram and Hart. The question is why."

"Yeah," Spike seconded, "seems they're fine with the panic and mayhem, judging from the hell on Earth and all. Why give us a blind fold after the gun's been fired?"

Illyria cocked her head with a look that seemed to address her hopelessness at finding a brain amongst the half-breeds.

Hermione sighed. "That's what I was trying to say," she said, giving him a harsh glance. "And I think I have the answer. Hope: I haven't been completely made aware of all the things that this Wolfram and Hart firm has done or what its motivation really is, but judging from the circumstance, I'd say that they have quite a good reason for putting us in a different dimension without our knowledge." She brushed back her tangled hair, as if to distract herself. "Let's face it, we were all hoping that someone on the outside was trying to get to us. That help would come. The glamour over the boundary kept that hope alive so that we wouldn't take extreme action to try to escape."

From the corner of his eye, Spike saw Angel wince. A part of himself was squeezing, too, tense, deep fear building in his stomach. This wasn't good. This wasn't good at all.

Hermione opened her mouth but no words came out. Spike stared at her, meeting her honey eyes. He knew that she was pausing because she didn't want to add this next part. Didn't want to bring it up unless someone asked.

So Spike did.

"This other dimension," he breathed, "what's it like, exactly?"

Hermione broke their connection, looking to the Old One for the right wording.

"Dismal," Illyria supplied.

The witch cringed. Spike put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. He could feel Angel's eyes following the movement, examining it for what it was.

Hermione released a breath. "No sign of humans--not any living ones. There were vehicles and such." She shook her head. "They looked the same as ours, so I have to assume they were made by humans. If I had to guess, I'd say that something awful had happened, perhaps several years ago. There was evidence of creatures… demons."

"Sounds as if they've already had their own end of the world party," Spike commented.

"On that note," Hermione cleared her throat, "I have a theory. What opened up, in that alley, it wasn't a gate to a hell. It was a hole this dimension, a slow leak in the bubble, so to speak. The demons are coming in from the other side."

Illyria straightened. "I concur."

Angel raised a hand, his face tight, as if one more word might do him in. Spike knew that look. It was the one he got before the demon popped loose and started throwing things at heads. Angel took a moment; mocking life by widening his nostrils for a deep breath.

"Alright," he said, through his teeth, "let's say your theory is right. Exactly, how to we close the hole, stop the demons from coming in?"

"Go to the source," Hermione answered, quickly.

"The alley?"

She shook her head at Angel's conclusion. "No, I believe that would be the wrong thing to do at this point. Someone opened the hole, someone shifted our dimensions. That took power, and it wasn't done in the opening. By source, I was referring to the place where the power is coming from. Most likely, Wolfram and Hart itself."

Spike didn't like the black look that Angel was giving her. He took a step over, his shoulder in front of hers. "Guess that means we're due in at work tonight."

Angel's shoulders squared, as if bracing for a defense. "No."

**End Notes: Ok, so I love Angel, but we all know he can be cranky, so expect to see cranky breeches Angel in the next chapter. Also, there will be quite a bit of shippy goodness in the upcoming chapter. Thanks for all the reviews, guys--10 away from 100! That's awesome!**


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